If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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The rumor mill of Saint Denis had done its job flawlessly. The city's populace, ranging from wealthy merchants in tailored suits to exhausted factory workers in soot stained caps, had flooded the park grounds, drawn by the irresistible promise of a free spectacle hosted by the legendary, newly married billionaire Don.
Caleb arrived at the event in a massive, open topped carriage, flanked by his absolute inner circle.
He stepped down onto the cobblestones, turning to offer his hand to Mary-Beth. She looked breathtakingly elegant in a tailored day dress of deep sapphire blue, a matching wide brimmed hat shielding her eyes from the sun. She took his hand with a radiant smile, the sheer energy of the crowd instantly washing over them.
Following closely behind the couple were Vincenzo, Silvio, Hosea, and Arthur. They walked with a relaxed, confident swagger, though their eyes constantly scanned the crowd. Dozens of Thorne capos were seamlessly integrated into the perimeter, entirely invisible to the untrained eye, ensuring the absolute safety of the corporate royal family.
Because this was the very first public event ever held under the legitimate banner of the Thorne Trading Co., the people of Saint Denis were intensely interested and deeply curious. They parted like the Red Sea as Caleb and his entourage made their way toward the center of the park.
"I have to hand it to you, Caleb," Hosea murmured, looking around at the massive, colorful banners bearing the Thorne crest. "You certainly know how to throw a party. I haven't seen a crowd this big since the traveling circus came through Blackwater in '88."
The atmosphere was wildly festive and incredibly lively. Caleb had spared no expense to ensure the crowd remained entertained and engaged. A professional brass band was set up on a wooden bandstand, playing energetic, thumping ragtime music that had people tapping their feet and clapping along. Jugglers and fire breathers moved through the periphery, keeping the children mesmerized.
But the true center of the peripheral attractions was the food.
Caleb had brought in his own people to feed the masses. A long row of pristine, canvas tented food stalls lined the edge of the park. Manning the largest and most popular stall, shouting orders with absolute, dictatorial authority, was Pearson.
Pearson was entirely in his element. He was wearing a spotless, bright white chef's coat over his usual attire, a massive carving knife in his hand. He was flanked by half a dozen professional employees from Caleb's upscale restaurant in the city, but Pearson was undeniably the captain of this culinary ship.
The smells wafting from his stall were intoxicating, rich, slow roasted pork belly, thick gravies, freshly baked artisan breads, spicy, blackened Cajun sausages, and of course there's burgers and fries.
Arthur nudged Hosea, a wide, amused grin breaking across his scarred face as they walked past the stall.
"Hey, Pearson!" Arthur called out over the roar of the crowd, leaning against the wooden counter of the stall. "This smells a whole lot better than that stringy, grey rabbit stew you used to force down our throats back at Horseshoe Overlook. You finally learn how to use salt?"
Pearson stopped carving the pork, pointing his massive knife at Arthur with a mock glare.
"That stew kept you alive, Mr. Morgan!" Pearson barked back, though a massive, proud smile broke through his gruff exterior. He gestured grandly to the sizzling meats behind him. "But I will admit, having an unlimited budget and actual spices is a marked improvement. Eat up, Arthur! Courtesy of the boss!"
Arthur laughed, taking a warm, wrapped pork sandwich from one of the restaurant workers. The energy, the movement, and the sheer sense of celebration were infectious. It felt less like a corporate product launch and more like a massive, city wide holiday.
At the center of the park, towering above the crowd, was a large, raised wooden platform. Resting on the platform, completely obscured beneath a massive velvet tarp, was the product.
At exactly three o'clock, the brass band abruptly ceased playing. A heavy, anticipatory silence fell over the thousands of people gathered on the grass.
Caleb released Mary-Beth's hand, offering her a warm, confident smile before he turned and walked up the wooden steps to the platform.
He stood at the center of the stage, the late afternoon sun illuminating his sharp, handsome features and his impeccably tailored suit. He didn't need a megaphone, his rich, powerful baritone carried effortlessly across the silent park, commanding the absolute attention of every single soul present.
"Citizens of Saint Denis!" Caleb's voice rang out, buzzing with charisma and unyielding authority. "For years, you have walked these muddy streets. You have spent your hard earned wages paying for streetcars, or you have drained your savings attempting to feed, stable, and care for horses that you can barely afford to keep."
The crowd murmured in agreement. The crushing cost of urban transportation was a universal burden.
"You live in the greatest, most modern city in the South," Caleb continued, pacing slowly across the stage. "Yet you rely on a mode of transport that leaves your streets covered in filth and your wallets entirely empty. The Thorne Trading Company believes that true progress should not be limited to the wealthy tycoons riding in private carriages. We believe that the future belongs to anyone who has the will to move forward."
Caleb stopped directly beside the massive velvet tarp. "Today, we are fundamentally changing how this city moves. I present to you... the Thorne Cycle."
With a sharp, dramatic pull, Caleb ripped the velvet tarp away.
The crowd collectively gasped.
Sitting on the platform, gleaming in the sunlight, were five flawless, perfectly polished modern safety bicycles. The hollow drawn steel frames were painted a deep, lustrous black, the chrome handlebars shone brilliantly, and the thick, pneumatic rubber tires looked completely alien compared to the massive, dangerous wooden wheels of the old velocipedes.
Except for Vincenzo, who had personally guarded the factory and seen the prototypes, absolutely everyone in Caleb's inner circle was completely and utterly surprised by what they were seeing.
Arthur actually choked on his pork sandwich, his green eyes widening in sheer bewilderment. He squinted at the contraption. "Where the hell does the horse go?"
Hosea let out a delighted, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. "I don't believe it. The boy has actually invented something again."
Mary-Beth stared up at the stage, her hands clasped tightly together in front of her. She knew Caleb was brilliant, but seeing the sleek, aerodynamic machine he had designed entirely from his own mind filled her with a overwhelming pride. It looked like a piece of the future dragged back into the present.
The crowd was buzzing with intense curiosity, pointing and whispering, completely unsure of how the strange, two wheeled contraptions were supposed to remain upright without falling over.
Sensing their confusion, Caleb didn't just stand there and lecture them on physics. He demonstrated.
He stepped up to the lead bicycle. He easily swung his leg over the plush leather saddle, gripping the ergonomic handlebars. He pushed off the wooden platform, riding smoothly down a small ramp and directly onto the wide, paved pathway that circled the center of the park.
The crowd parted in awe as Caleb pedaled. Because of his past life experience, he rode with a flawless, effortless grace. He picked up speed, the pneumatic rubber tires absorbing the bumps of the pavement with a quiet, satisfying hum. He leaned into a sweeping turn, gliding past the cheering crowd, his posture relaxed and entirely confident. The sheer speed and silence of the machine were completely mesmerizing.
After completing a wide circle, Caleb squeezed the handbrakes, coming to a smooth, perfect halt right in front of the stage.
The park erupted. Thousands of people began clapping, shouting, and whistling in absolute amazement. They had just watched a man propel himself faster than a trotting horse, using nothing but his own two legs.
Caleb held up a hand, silencing the roaring crowd once more.
"Imagine a city where you never have to shovel manure again!" Caleb shouted, leaning the bicycle against his hip. "Imagine a life where you never have to buy a sack of oats, or pay a blacksmith for a thrown shoe! The Thorne Cycle relies entirely on human power. It costs nothing to fuel. It costs nothing to stable. You can carry it into your home."
He patted the leather saddle, delivering the final, irresistible hook.
"And beyond the sheer economic freedom it provides, it is a magnificent form of daily exercise! It builds strength, it builds stamina, and it gives you the absolute freedom to travel wherever you desire, whenever you desire, on your own terms!"
The logic was profound, irrefutable, and incredibly persuasive. The crowd was practically vibrating with excitement. Factory workers saw a way to save hours of walking in the freezing rain, young clerks saw a way to explore the countryside on the weekends.
"Now," Caleb smiled, gesturing to a massive, brightly painted wooden wheel that had been erected beside the stage, flanked by two capos. "I promised a celebration. And the Thorne Trading Company always delivers on its promises. Who wants to ride the future for free?"
The frenzy that followed was immediate and explosive.
A massive, cheering line instantly formed around the spinning wheel. People stepped up, spinning the heavy wooden contraption with all their might. Whenever the flapper clicked to a halt on one of the five golden slots, a deafening cheer would rise from the crowd, and a tearfully happy citizen would be presented with a brand new bicycle.
But the true victory was happening just behind the stage.
For the hudnreds of people who didn't win a free bicycle, Caleb had set up massive sales tents. The remaining seven hundred and forty five bicycles from the factory were lined up in pristine rows. The clerks were completely overwhelmed as citizens frantically thrust fistfuls of cash at them, desperate to secure their own Thorne Cycle before the inventory ran out.
Caleb stood near the edge of the stage, a crystal glass of water in his hand, watching the glorious, profitable chaos unfold.
Mary-Beth stepped up beside him, slipping her arm through his. She looked out at the thousands of people celebrating, eating, and marveling at his creation.
"You did it, Caleb," Mary-Beth whispered, looking up at him with eyes full of absolute adoration and awe. "You are completely changing how they live."
Caleb wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close. The air was filled with the sound of ragtime music, the smell of roasting meat, and the metallic clinking of hundreds of new bicycles rolling out of the park and into the streets of Saint Denis. The event was a monumental, unforgettable triumph.
"This is just the beginning, Mary-Beth," Caleb murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her temple as he looked out over the cheering crowd. Now, there was only one thing left to do, it was time to take New York.
The morning following the Central Park exhibition, the atmosphere in the Garden District mansion was electric. Caleb sat behind his massive mahogany desk, the morning sunlight streaming through the windows, illuminating the sprawling ledgers spread out before him. Strauss, who have arrived at Saint Denis after handing over the manager position to a man he trust back ta Strawberry, stood on the opposite side of the desk, adjusting his spectacles, looking as though he had just witnessed a genuine miracle.
The rapid, explosive success of Caleb's bicycle business had exceeded even their most optimistic projections. The Thorne Cycle had become an absolute overnight sensation.
Priced at exactly fifty dollars, intentionally matching the current market value of a reliable Kentucky Saddler horse, the bicycles were positioned perfectly. They were expensive enough to be a premium, highly coveted item, yet accessible enough that a factory worker or a clerk could save up for one, knowing it was a one time purchase with zero maintenance costs.
"I have verified the receipts from the sales tents three times, Don Thorne," Strauss reported, his Austrian accent thick with awe. "By nightfall yesterday, the entire remaining inventory... all seven hundred and forty five units... was completely sold out. We had men trying to bribe the clerks just to take the display models."
Caleb leaned back in his leather chair, a deeply satisfied, calculating smile crossing his handsome features. "Give me the final numbers, Strauss."
"The gross revenue for a single afternoon of sales is thirty-seven thousand, two hundred and fifty dollars," Strauss read from the ledger, his finger trembling slightly at the sheer volume of cash. "After meticulously deducting the manufacturing expenses, the raw materials, the vulcanized rubber shipments, and the premium overtime wages you authorized for Mr. Higgins and the factory workers... we have netted a clean profit of approximately fifteen thousand dollars."
For the year 1900, it was a staggering, almost incomprehensible sum of money to generate in twenty four hours from a single, non lethal commercial product. Caleb nodded slowly, taking in the rhythm of the numbers. He was immensely satisfied. The invention had proven its worth immediately, validating every sleepless night he had spent drafting the diamond-frame architecture.
"The demand is not going to slow down," Caleb noted, pouring himself a cup of black coffee. "If anything, the visibility of those seven hundred bicycles on the streets today is going to drive the demand exponentially higher. We are already vastly outpacing our current production capacity."
As if on cue, Antonio knocked softly on the study door before entering, carrying a silver tray stacked high with calling cards and telegrams.
"Sir," the butler announced smoothly. "The parlor is currently occupied by four prominent businessmen and three wealthy industrial magnates from the commercial district. I have also received wires from investors in Liberty City and Chicago. They are all desperately proposing the formation of national distribution partnerships. They wish to help distribute the Thorne Cycle across the country, and eventually to the European markets."
Caleb took a sip of his coffee, his mind operating not as a fast cash opportunist, but as a long-term, visionary industrialist.
"Bring the local men in, Antonio," Caleb instructed.
Minutes later, a group of wealthy, eager merchants filed into the study, practically tripping over themselves to offer Caleb massive sums of money in exchange for distribution rights. Caleb welcomed their interest politely, listening to their grand pitches about shipping crates of bicycles on the next trains to New York and Boston.
But when it was his turn to speak, Caleb immediately tempered their frantic enthusiasm with cold, undeniable logic.
"I appreciate your ambition, gentlemen," Caleb said, leaning forward and steepling his fingers on the desk. "And make no mistake, I am more than willing to cooperate with you on a national distribution network. But I will not overextend the Thorne Trading Company. We do not sell what we cannot immediately provide."
One of the merchants frowned. "But Mr. Thorne, the iron is hot! The market is begging for this!"
"And the market will wait," Caleb replied with absolute, unyielding authority. "Currently, our vulcanized rubber curing process and the manual brazing of the steel joints are significant bottlenecks. Before I sign a single contract for out of state freight, I need to fundamentally expand my factory's production capacity. I am bringing in automated stamping presses and developing better, faster manufacturing methods. When I can produce a thousand bicycles a day without sacrificing a single millimeter of quality, we will talk about Chicago. Until then, my focus remains exclusively on supplying Saint Denis."
The businessmen left the mansion disappointed but profoundly respectful of the Don's discipline. He was not a man who could be rushed.
Outside the fortified walls of the mansion, Caleb's creation was already triggering a massive, undeniable cultural and economic shift. Bicycles were rapidly becoming the absolute craze of Saint Denis. Within forty eight hours, they had appeared in every corner of the city.
Ordinary citizens, sharply dressed bank clerks, young university men, and soot stained factory workers were all seen pedaling through the cobblestone streets. The metallic, cheerful ringing of bicycle bells cut through the usual cacophony of the city. In the commercial and industrial districts, the bicycles were actively replacing horses for short and medium distance travel. They weaved effortlessly through stalled carriage traffic, completely immune to the exhaustion that plagued draft animals.
This sudden, explosive shift created an immediate, devastating ripple effect on the local horse industry.
Within just a few days, the massive livery stables, coach businesses, and private transportation services that relied entirely on horses began suffering highly noticeable, deeply alarming losses. Wealthy patrons who usually hailed a luxury cab to cross the city were instead riding their new Thorne Cycles, enjoying the speed and the novelty of the exercise. The working class completely abandoned the rented nags they used to haul groceries.
The streets were changing. There was less manure to shovel, fewer blacksmiths hammering horseshoes, and a growing fleet of idle, empty stagecoaches sitting parked outside the saloons. The shift was undeniable, bicycles were exponentially cheaper to operate, required zero feed, and needed practically no maintenance.
For the men who owned the transport monopolies of Saint Denis, the Thorne Cycle was an economic apocalypse.
Late that evening, an emergency, highly secretive meeting was convened in the opulent, smoke filled parlor of Reginald Hayes, the owner of the largest livery and coach service in the state.
The room was packed with the major figures of the Saint Denis horse and coach industry. Wealthy stable owners, horse breeders from Scarlett Meadows, and the heads of the transit unions sat in plush leather chairs, their faces pale, sweating heavily despite the cool evening air.
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Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 8/10
- Agility: 8/10
- Perception: 9/10
- Stamina: 8/10
- Charm: 8/10
- Luck: 9/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl MAX)
- Rifle (Lvl MAX)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl MAX)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl MAX)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl MAX)
- Sneaking (Lvl MAX)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl MAX)
- Poker (Lvl MAX)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl MAX)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl MAX)
- Dead Eye (Lvl MAX)
- Bow (Lvl MAX)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl MAX)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl MAX)
- Crafting (Lvl MAX)
- Persuasion (Lvl MAX)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl MAX)
- Teaching (Lvl MAX)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 100x100x100)
- Acting (Lvl MAX)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Business (Lvl MAX)
- Leadership (Lvl MAX)
Money: 2,772 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 283,392 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 74 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, 1 land deed (Parcel), 1 Mauser, 1 Semi Auto Pistol, 1 Lancaster Repeater, 1 Old Wood Jewelry Box, 1 F.F Mausoleum small brass key, 1 Ruby, 1 Broken Pirate Sword, 1 Milton's Safety Deposit Key, Proof Of Marlin-Thorne Firearms Co., 10 Dynamites, 1 LeMat, 1 M1899, 1 Carcano, 1 Ownership deed of Doyle's Tavern, 3 Diamonds, & Important Documents & Deeds Of Cornwall
Bank: -